


The Lonely Goat, The Heartsick River and The Dance

by Dogsled



Category: due South
Genre: Classic Cars, Closets, Flirting, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Francesca gave her brother a warning: he was going to die alone if he didn't learn how to reach out and grasp the things he wanted. Well, he's still not any good at dreaming. Set during and after the series, with new perspectives on scenes from Heaven and Earth, Letting Go, Juliet is Bleeding and Call of the Wild.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lonely Goat, The Heartsick River and The Dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jodie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jodie/gifts).



"Yeah, I'll tell you. Your problem is that you are so afraid to dream. You are so afraid to reach out for something that you really want. You know what happens to people like you? They get old, they get alone, and they die. And they never know. Well that's not me."

She was halfway to the door already, but exhausted as he was Ray moved to intercept her, pulled her back into his arms, his expression betraying his urgency and compassion. His little sister was hurting. She was hurting, and he could tell--tell she hadn't slept with him, right then and there, because if she had she would be ecstatic, over the moon, not ripping out her heart and laying it out at Ray's feet.

She'd rub it right in his face. She was right and Ray was wrong; Ray was the lonely one, the one who would end up alone. But she wasn't saying that at all.

"Hey, hey, hey. Come here..." She was fighting back tears, and he tugged her closer. "Come here. Did you sleep with him?" He wanted to hear it, but he was rapidly discovering that her Italian pride was as invulnerable as his own. She couldn't admit that she was hurting. Ray was the same, and they were just close like that, the two of them, like pasta and parmesan. She was his little sister, and he was supposed to protect her.

"Oh god. Why? Why? Would it matter to you if I did?"

No, it wouldn't matter. If she'd slept with Fraser, it'd only change how he looked at Fraser. He'd have to scare him off or make him do the right thing. Okay, so it would matter, but only because he wanted Francesca to be happy. He ducked his head. "Yes, it would. You're my sister... I _care_ about you."

They fell into the hug. Ray did most of the falling, then slumped against the table. Psychics and feebs and kidnapped girls he could deal with. His sister exhausted him. He was almost too tired to think about the deeper connotations of what she'd left him with.

_"They get alone. And they die. And they never know."_

Was that him? Was that what was going to happen to him?

 

*****

 

"These are the ones you wanna look at. Hey--who even needs a power saw in Chicago? What're you gonna do with it, chop up bodies?"

Vecchio shot the salesman a dark look over the display. "I'm a cop, pal."

For a beat the guy seemed uncertain, and then he grinned a yellow smile. "Hey, cops have to dispose of bodies too."

"It's a gift. For a Canadian."

"So it's for doing the stuff like it says on the box?"

Ray rolled his eyes. "You know what, I can do this. Just uh...what's your name? I'll tell them it was your sale so long as you let me finish up here on my own."

"You will? Man that's cool. Thanks. Thanks!"

Kneading his temple with his right hand, Ray got straight back to examining the specs on the power tools. It didn't make a whole lot of sense to him, but he picked out one that had a big sticker on the front that said "Galvanized steel diamond edged cutter, guaranteed never to rust, lifetime guarantee" and took it to the counter.

It wasn't really good enough, not really. Ray knew all about heartbreak and betrayal. Heartbreak and betrayal were the reasons _why_ he was alone. Victoria had betrayed Fraser, had broken his heart.

Fraser had been going with her. He'd been jumping the damn train, and Ray was so messed up with all the emotions that went with that that he didn't know what to do about it. Fraser had been leaving, had been betraying Ray, betraying his friendship, betraying everything he was because of that woman. Because he loved her.

Ray and Fraser; they were supposed to be partners. They were meant to mean more to each other than that. But Fraser had stood him up. It seemed ridiculous that he was still mad about such a ridiculous thing when his best friend was lying in hospital with a bullet in his back.

So Ray was doing everything he could to try and win him back, but Fraser was... Fraser was vacant, distant. He looked through Ray when he visited, as though he wasn't there, and it was breaking his heart for reasons he couldn't quite put words to.

Maybe Francesca was right. He was going to die alone. Partners and wives, they all left.

That was what the power saw was for. He wanted to really attack the silence that had settled in between them, and how better than with tools and a promise to drag Fraser back to Canada to fix the cabin that Ray had hated, that Victoria had burned down. That cabin resembled their friendship somehow, and if they repaired it together maybe their partnership would come together too.

Maybe rebuilding Fraser's cabin after almost losing his own home would go some way to really drawing a parallel between them. He could only hope. Fraser was mad at him right now, he knew, but he'd thank him for it one day. Not the shooting him in the back thing, obviously, but being there for him, sharing his pain...

It was worth the hundred and twenty dollars Ray paid. It'd be worth trudging through mud and sleeping in a tent and breaking his thumb. He'd get there. Fraser would get there too.

*****

It all backfired pretty quickly. Turned out the wilderness was pretty damn dangerous. All they'd been doing was flying over it, and down they went, like they'd deliberately attracted the trouble. Of all the planes they could have chartered, it just had to be the one piloted by an escaped convict; a murderer.

At least, even with a head injury, it proved that Fraser was back to his old self. Their partnership took a little longer, but they sorted out their yayas in the bank vault, and left dripping wet, were released back into the rhythm they both knew so well.

And maybe the rhythm was exactly the problem. Fraser had the Dragon Lady to deal with, and what with all the extra work she was giving him, Ray didn't get to see his friend half a often as he'd have liked. He tried his luck elsewhere, not that anything really stuck. What he did figure out pretty quickly, though, was how positively stressful it was to see Fraser settling in with a woman, being drawn to her little by little.

It wasn't even that he resented it. Fraser absolutely _deserved_ to be happy, and what would make Fraser happier than a gorgeous lady RCMP officer? Bit bossy, but Fraser seemed to dig that in a woman.

So he wanted to let him go. God, he _needed_ to let him go, because as it turned out watching Fraser maybe one day being happy, galloping off back to Canada and obliviously leaving Ray's life to what it had been before, was the worst torture there was. Fraser would never know what he'd done, because he was just that sort of guy, and just as he'd warned Francesca, he didn't see how he affected the people around him.

Fraser kissed Thatcher - or at least that's what Ray figured from their body language during the train thing - and Ray figured it was his turn to move along too. He tried--man, he did his absolute best. Irene all but died in his arms.

That night, his best friend came to his rescue. Fraser was there for him when the press loomed beyond the waiting room doors, their disagreements forgotten. He slid an arm across his shoulder and urged him to safety, and when the crowds subsided, Fraser was riding shotgun beside him, worrying as Ray pulled the car pool vehicle up in the street outside a busy dive bar.

They sat there in silence for almost a half hour. Fraser said nothing, Ray said nothing, Diefenbaker dozed in the back seat, but nobody got out, either to get trashed or call a taxi. It was as though they were having a conversation without any words, and in the end Ray got out, stood with the driver's side door open, and waited until Fraser circled the vehicle and climbed into it. Then, unhurried and buoyed by their silent, psychic understanding, he came around to the passenger's side and took Fraser's place. It wasn't the Riv, it didn't matter.

Fraser didn't drive him home. They drove out of town, and stopped somewhere out beyond the city lights, where the stars overhead shone like they were in the forest again, and Fraser checked them into a nice little motel where no one knew what their names were or what they'd been through. Ray, still rattled, could only distantly appreciate the connection between them that made all this possible.

Even so, he felt like he should apologise to Fraser, take back the things he'd been thinking about him _not getting it_. Fraser got it. He understood without a single word. Somehow he knew what Ray couldn't even put into words or actions himself, and as he closed the door on Diefenbaker, the mental connection made it to Ray too. Fraser had only ever done that once before, when Victoria had been staying with him.

It gave him seconds to get his bearings. Then Fraser was kissing him, and the world and its trauma was set aside for one wonderful night as they fell into the motel sheets together and made love.

*****

He knew. Well, of course he knew, he was Constable Benton Fraser. Fraser couldn't tell the difference, obviously, between him going undercover or dying from some debilitating disease, so he asked:

"So everything is all right then?"

Ray sighed, exasperated, all but rolling his eyes down the phone. Fraser could psychically hear him doing it, he figured. "Yeah, Benny." And he felt a rush of gratitude, because this was a goodbye, and he'd been afraid when he called that he wouldn't get to actually _say_ it. "Everything is all right." 

"Well, that's good to hear, Ray."

How did he even say this? _It's not you, it's me_. It was work, right? It wasn't because they'd slept together. It was just... Just work. God, he wasn't even convincing _himself_. "It's good to hear your voice. . ." When would he hear that voice again? Would he? Would he die down in Vegas? "Listen, uh, I want you to have a safe trip, and I will be in touch."

Fraser wasn't getting it. "All right, Ray." 

He put everything he had into the tone of his voice, tried to make Fraser understand that this was it. That he wouldn't get to say goodbye. "You understand that, uh, I’ll be in touch."

If he said it firmly enough maybe he could believe it too. 

And then Fraser said something that broke his heart. "As a friend?"

He didn't mean _as a friend_. It was about so much more than that. His chest ached, his grip on the phone had turned his knuckles white. 

"Yeah, Benny. As a friend."

Welsh was waiting for him. The car was waiting for him, waiting to whisk him away from his life. They didn't have much time. If they didn't get him in quickly, then Armando's absence would draw suspicion. It was a dangerous job, and these first couple of days were imperative. The first week could make or break him, as he interacted with people who had once known Armando Langoustini intimately. This time tomorrow he could be lying dead in the desert, and Fraser would never know.

He couldn't help but feel that he was taking the job out of fear. Commitment or stagnation. Maybe the idea of dying in Chicago without ever feeling like he'd made a difference. Maybe it was his way of striking back at the heart of the mob after the death of his childhood sweetheart. Honestly, it had all come together--a way out, right when he'd desperately needed it.

Although it had to be said when other people needed to think they spent a fortnight on a Caribbean beach, or climbed a mountain. They didn't strap on a nice suit and throw themselves at armed thugs.

It was just... It had been so hard. After that one night, they'd gone back to pretending like nothing had happened. Fraser hadn't changed his plans for Canada, hadn't invited him to come with him. Everything had gone back to normal, and Ray couldn't stand it.

He rubbed his hands against his face and stepped into the office, trying to shake off some of those residual feelings of disappointment. He should be over it. He'd known what Fraser was: he'd known, and yet he'd welcomed that warmth, the companionship, and been devastated when it was gone.

He'd tasted ambrosia. He'd done exactly what he'd warned Frannie not to do, and now he was in pieces.

"So this is it, then?"

Welsh looked at him pityingly, but Ray knew secretly that he was proud of him. It was the same sort of look his mother had given him when she'd embraced him after his swearing in. His dad could have cared less, but Ma Vecchio had been there, shining with pride: her little boy had grown up. Welsh was looking at him the same way.

"This is it. You ready?"

Vecchio shrugged. "Is anyone ever ready?"

"Nah," Welsh said. "I figure not. You leave the oven on? Forget to lock up?"

"Can't remember." Vecchio grinned. "ID, wallet, car keys, shield, gun--oh shit, right, I'm not keeping any of that stuff."

Welsh clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Feds have a car waiting for you out back."

"So this is it, then." Ray repeated, swept his eyes across the office.

"Hey Vecchio. You make it back here in one piece, this all might be yours."

Ray grinned, pulling his sleeves loose and turning toward the door. "Oh no, Sir. No way. The only way they'll ever get you out of this place is when they're exorcising your ghost."

 

*****

 

It was like dying. Becoming someone else didn't help, because it turned out that carrying on living after dying was the ultimate struggle. There were all these things he wanted to say, all the things he hadn't got done. He watched birthdays tick by unmentioned, spent Christmas and New Years with someone else's family, celebrated Valentine's and Canada Day silently.

It was lonely, and it was miserable, and Ray had no trouble enshrouding himself in the sinister, black swagger of Armando Langoustini. He felt positively stormy some days, and it helped, poured back into the act. He hated everything, hated everyone he was surrounded with. Paranoia ate at him. The drugs made that worse.

Everything about it had taken him further away from his own life. Armando's childhood Christmases were spent with other people; his memories were different, his traditions were different, his childhood gifts had been different. 

Ray had been completely exterminated - had to be, or else those memories would get him killed - and the result was even more painful than murder. It was forgetting his own sister's name. It was memorizing tracts of Las Vegas streets as places Armando had done this, or that, old houses he'd once owned, businesses he'd collected money from over the years.

As hard as he tried to put everything he was in a safe place for later, Ray could feel it slipping away the further down the rabbit hole he went. It had to go.

But there was still something he couldn't shake, memories that wouldn't shift no matter how hard Ray tried. There was the softness of Fraser's mouth on his own; the tenderness and love he'd felt when Fraser had helped him to bed after everything, curled up by the pillow and stroked his hair; how pristine and Mountie free the apartment had looked in the morning, after Fraser had fled during the night.

Red was a problem. Red was distracting. Every time Ray saw a doorman he thought of Fraser. More often than not that meant sitting a little more deeply in his seat.

Today, Armando had a problem. Well actually, it was Ray's problem, but Armando had to deal with it. His cousin's son, Vigo - a nephew, really, since Armando was considered to be as close to a brother with the capofamiglia - was... Well. He was gay. 

It was even more of a problem that Armando had found out about it. Or not. Had it been his father who found out, who knew what would have happened, but Ray could at least make up some reason to keep it a secret, at least for now. Balancing that with Armando's almost notorious homophobia was the real issue. Ray didn't have time to run it by the Feds, he was on his own; all he knew was that he couldn't possibly treat the kid bad.

He had Vigo abducted by his men, blindfolded and thrown in the back of a car, driven out into the desert in the middle of the night. Armando was waiting for him, his hands in his pockets, standing at the top of a dune far away from the headlights below. The moon was all the company they had.

The kid clambered up the hill alone, Armando's thugs waiting for him at the bottom. He looked shaken up, positively terrified, and so he should be. He could have been sent up here to die for all he knew, and had he been anyone else then that might have been the case.

But Ray was waiting for him, and as Vigo - huffing from the climb - came to a stop beside him, looking apprehensive, Ray slipped his hands out of his pockets and clapped his hands on the boy's shoulders.

"You know why you're here?"

The kid put on the bravest face that Ray had ever seen, like he didn't know, like he wasn't as white as a sheet from fear. "When my dad finds out about this--"

Ray slapped him.

"Your father's name doesn't mean nothing t'me, kid. You can use that line on practically anyone, but you use it on me, you better hope I'm in a good mood. We clear? You better hope for your sake your father never finds out about this, Vigo. Look around you. This is how it is. This is how it could end for you if he does."

Vigo looked at him defiantly for a few seconds before dropping his eyes away, suddenly embarrassed. It'd take him years before he understood, rather than resented, the role that the consigliere played in the family's structure. God knew Ray hoped this operation was over by then. His father would be put away, but on the other hand at least his son would never have to grow up into it. He had time. He could be safe to explore how he loved without fearing repercussions from the people who were supposed to love him the most.

Ray sighed, reached up and placed his hand on the youth's shoulder.

"I called you up here for your own good, Vigo. I brought you up here because this is where your father woulda called you if he'd found out what I've found out. Now contrary t'what you mighta heard, I love your dad very much. We're blood brothers. Family. I only want to see him happy.

"He loves you too. But that won't matter if this gets out. He'd have to make a gesture. Strictly speaking, Vigo, I oughta be telling him, and he'd have to send you to military school. But it's better than you being dead. Those are your options."

Thank God the kid was asking questions, rather than hitting him with the full attitude. Armando being terrifying played its part in that. The slap had probably done the trick too. Probably no one in Vigo's life, except for his father, would have talked back to him the way Ray had.

"You want me to keep your secret?"

Vigo chewed his lip, and then he looked up helplessly, and Ray saw a look in the kid's eyes that reminded him of Francesca that day in the police station; that reminded him of his own reflection in the blackened windows of Armando's limousine. Vigo looked lost, and heartsick, and desperately, inconsolably miserable.

"Yeah. Yeah, alright." Ray sighed, and shook his head, pointed down the dune. "Let's go."

 

*****

 

They were standing in a hotel in Chicago; Ray had just put down the receiver.

"Well, you see. These three goons are going to get one call each. They're going to call Vegas, and when they do, Armando Langoustini is going to go up like flash paper." It felt good. He was over the moon. No more Armando Langoustini. No more Vegas. He was devastated and delighted all at once, and while being Ray Vecchio again was going to take some getting used to, it was a relief just to get the weight of that dead mobster off his shoulders.

No more shooting people because they owed the mob money. No more watching foolish kids get on the wrong side of organized crime and being able to do nothing about it. No more of Armando Langoustini's family, his backward medieval views, his absolute cruelty.

It was over.

"Time to get my life back."

The imposter looked back at him with his pretty blue eyes, and there was defiance and confusion, and _it was that same damn look_. That look that said that he was lost and in love and he didn't know who he was any more without it.

"But that's my life," he said.

"I'm afraid it is." He almost actually was. But part of him felt a vehement joy, a sort of defiance all of his own. He didn't know how to be himself any more but he sure as hell was looking forward to it. He deserved it, after everything he'd been through. And there was Fraser standing beside him, beautiful and gorgeous, and Ray knew that all he wanted was to get through tonight, drag him home and _show him_ how he really felt.

He hadn't gotten it right last time. He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

"What are you grinning at?" he asked, shooting a glance at his former partner. The new old Ray Vecchio looked at him too. He was practically bristling, but he had no idea what he was up against. Ray, as Armando, had done real defiance. He did confrontation better now than he ever had, and while it was clear this guy had grown up in Chicago too, he didn't have the real Vecchio experience to fall back on. Being cool under all that pressure was an Italian thing, okay.

And there was... Okay, there was sexual frisson, but when was there ever not?

But Fraser was oblivious to it. Oblivious to practically everything, probably. Oblivious to the fact this guy wanted him. Oblivious to the fact that Ray was already planning to drag him home and kiss him stupid, oblivious to the tension between his two Rays on all those different levels...

"I knew you two would hit it off," he proclaimed, and clapped them both on the shoulders, still grinning like a loon.

What were they going to do with him?

"Alright," Ray said, shaking his way free. "Knock it off." He waved the Mountie aside, and just as the new guy thought he was going to get away, grabbed him by the arm. The cleanup team were on the way, but Fraser could answer the door, since he was in such a good mood. It was the least he could do, considering what he'd no doubt put them both through.

Unrequited love sucked, and Fraser didn't get it; would never get it. This guy was suffering too, and Ray could see it in the way he looked over his shoulder at Fraser to be rescued. Sucked to be him now; his time as Ray Vecchio was over, and if he took his life back then Fraser came with it. The new guy had missed his chance, and it was going to break him up as much as it had Ray in Vegas.

 

*****

 

It didn't quite work out like that. Neither did Stella.

 

*****

 

"What're you doing?"

Kowalski was looking at him like he was mad, which was ridiculous considering the state of him. Vecchio stroked back his own hair meticulously, scowling at his own reflection.

"It's not like it's going to grow back."

" _Burn_. That all you got, Stanley?"

Kowalski rolled his eyes, and turned the rear view back toward himself. "And don't touch my stuff. You know how much a replacement for that mirror costs?"

Ray thought of his poor, long lost Buick, set on fire and launched into Lake Michigan. "I figure I got a good idea, yeah."

Kowalski was fidgeting again in his seat. He couldn't sit still, and for Ray Vecchio who was used to his partner being frighteningly statue-like in the seat beside him, it was enough to drive him crazy. All that extra energy just under the surface--it was like standing next to an enormous generator, electricity in the air. If Stanley Kowalski made noises he would be _buzzing_.

He tried to ignore it. Which was difficult, because then Stanley said: "So you and Fraser..."

It was a complete change of topic--so immediate and sudden, in fact, that Ray did a doubletake. It happened rarely, but sometimes - out of nowhere - mysterious and heavenly insight would shine down on Kowalski, affording him some truth of the universe. It came out of nowhere.

"Me and Fraser?"

Kowalski seemed to know what he was trying to say, but the best he could manage was: "Uh--danced."

"We _danced_?" Ray rolled his eyes.

"Yeah." Kowalski sounded accusing now. "Didn't you?"

"Yeah, we danced."

Apparently that wasn't the answer Stanley was looking for. He scowled. "Wait. Wait, you _danced_? Like _dance_ danced?"

Oh, this could go on forever. "Kowalski, just ask what you're really asking."

Stanley looked uncomfortable - as he should - and squeezed his fingers around the leather steering wheel. "I mean. Did you two, um--"

"If you use another euphemism I'm gonna break something with a logo on it."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the unfinished but none the less complete question floating in the air between them. Ray seriously thought about not answering, if only because it was likely Stanley would punch him in the throat for it.

"Yeah," he said at last. "Yeah, we danced. Just once. He's probably forgotten all about it."

If Stanley kept chewing his lip like that then before long he wouldn't have any left. Thankfully, and much to Ray's surprise, he soon reached over (Ray flinched, suspecting he was about to get punched after all) and flicked open the glovebox, reaching in to pull out a box of cigarettes.

"You smoke?"

"No."

Ray stared at him for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Whatever. So uh--so you too?"

"No." Stanley cracked a window and lit up, looking anywhere but at Ray himself. "I thought maybe we might do something...a couple times. But he was always thinking of someone else, you know?"

"Victoria?" Ray asked. Stanley shot him a look that could melt steel. " _Me?_ That's daft."

"You serious? He missed you."

"Yeah," Ray huffed. "Missed me so much he flew back off to Canada first chance he got."

Kowalski blew out a lungful of smoke. "Yeah well... That's..."

"Typical Fraser," Ray finished for him, and slumped back in his seat. "You know what would serve him right--?" He regretted saying it the moment the words left his lips, not only because Fraser didn't _deserve_ anything (except to be happy), but because the attractive, blue eyed Detective in the seat beside him would take it as a come on. And he'd laugh right in his face.

Desperately he tried to think of a different way to get back at Fraser than the first thing that had come into his mind. Something that would sound credible, quick, before he asks!

"What?" Damn, too late.

Ray made a throttled noise, then spat it out. What the hell, the worst that could happen was Kowalski getting a kick out of it, right?

"Okay fine, but don't read too much into it, alright? Okay. What if the two of us uh..."

"Ew. Dance? No way."

Vecchio punched Kowalski in the arm. "Asshole. Flirt. With each other."

Stanley seemed to chew this over for a second or two, his gaze drifting away again. They were waiting for some sort of felon to emerge from the warehouse opposite, but as this was the third night of watching the place, neither of them held out much hope for a rapid arrest.

"Sure," Kowalski said at last. "Why not? Not like it's gonna hurt anyone, right?"

"Uh huh, and besides," Ray grinned. "If you're ever gonna get another woman, you need the practice."

Kowalski punched him in the arm. "Asshole. Oh hey, look at that, there's our guy."

Seemed like things were looking up.

 

*****

 

So that was what happened. Fraser came back from Canada, and Ray and Stanley started flirting with each other as though their lives depended on it, a weird mix of backbiting and compliments, ultimate partnership moments where they one-upped even Fraser's teamwork with Diefenbaker, and of course the occasional act of physical violence.

If Fraser figured that there was anything going on, he didn't show it. In fact, the whole act got more and more frustrating over time, as it seemed that no matter what they did, Fraser would just shrug it off and carry on, completely unmoved.

They flirted back and forth like heroes, though. Ray would sit on the phone at his desk and catch Kowalski's eye across the room as he wound the cable around his index finger. They'd blow kisses at each other and wink, and that was just the start.

It became something of a competition. They took turns trying to one up each other, trying to make Fraser crack. Nothing seemed to work. Ray would take on a lousy job from Stanley, and Kowalski would let Vecchio drive the GTO. Vecchio would let Kowalski sit on his lap in Santa's grotto, and Stanley would approach Ray to ask him to dance at the office Christmas party.

At the height of their efforts, Kowalski spontaneously kissed everyone in Welsh's office. It was after practically solving a case single handed--in an act of unpredictable joy, he turned to Francesca, clutched her face and kissed her hard right on the lips, turned to Fraser and did the same again, then to Welsh, who almost succeeded in waving him off before Kowalski darted in and snatched a peck anyway. And then Stanley turned to him, and Ray felt a rush of panic before he was dipped backward and snogged ferociously.

He was only let back up when he was breathless and flushed. Everyone was staring at them. Everyone except Fraser, who was staring out the window and looking uncomfortable.

He was _impossible._

It took some real soul searching, but Ray knew it, and after that Stanley knew it too. Even so, it wasn't until weeks later that Ray made the decision.

"We have to stop. It's been months, and you've seen Fraser. If we keep this up, all we're gonna do is drive him away."

He'd definitely picked quite a venue for this conversation. Kowalski had agreed to drive him two hours north to look at a Buick Riviera. The car had turned out to be exactly what Ray was looking for, the same beautiful midnight green of the first three, perfect interior, nothing wrong with the engine--it was everything he wanted.

It was a little expensive, maybe, but Ray had a settlement from his insurance, and the danger pay from the Federal government hadn't been anything to sniff at either. It was worth it for the feel of being behind that wheel again.

Ray had left his ID with the owner and taken the Riviera for a spin, Kowalski in the passenger seat. He'd found a quiet place by a lake to pull up and have this conversation, but the venue didn't make it easier; not really. He'd become very attached to Kowalski's flirting, and the thought of stopping was almost as hurtful as the reason they'd started in the first place. It didn't help that he _dreamt_ about him; dreamed about pale blue eyes, a cocky grin, and a kiss that tasted like smoke, menthol, and pineapples.

Stanley looked right at him, and then he lunged across, wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him into a deep, longing kiss.

And Ray thought: _Oh shit, here we go again_.

They made love. Desperate, passionate, for one night only sort of love, and God - it was fantastic - but that just made it worse. It made him want to die.

 

*****

 

They didn't stop flirting. But then, Fraser didn't leave, either.

It was weird, actually. It was like the next time they saw Fraser, he'd seen right through them. Hell, maybe he could smell the sex on them, or in the Riv, but whatever it was he warmed up pretty much instantly--even started _smiling_ again. Both of them were shocked by how much they'd missed that smile, but if it worked it worked. Their relationship with each other became something more natural, and in turn their shared partnership with Fraser went back to feeling...well, _right_. Even Diefenbaker seemed to profit from the diffused tension.

It didn't turn out to be the end, as Ray had feared. Jumping each other's bones in a Riviera he hadn't even paid for yet was _not_ the last time they danced. Stanley's flirting would become goading toward the end of the week, and then they'd find themselves together, left alone for five minutes or an hour, and usually that was all it would take. Ray even earned himself a reputation with Stanley for perfectly judging just how long they had, and what could be achieved in that much time, something that Ray attributed to trying to schedule in his personal sessions around the comings and goings of a platoon of family members.

Though it wasn't exactly the love life Ray had expected for himself, it was anything but _lonely_. Kowalski was a fantastic lover, but he wasn't Fraser, and as much as he caught himself looking, he saw Stanley doing it too. It was a pensive, sad sort of look.

One morning, when Kowalski was in the middle of performing The Look on Fraser, Ray reached over and elbowed him in the side.

"What?" Stanley snapped, and then seemed to think better of it. "Was I doing it again?"

"Yeah, you were. You wanna go uh--do the thing?"

Stanley blinked down at him as though he suddenly didn't understand what that meant. Ray rolled his eyes. It wasn't like it'd be the first time they snuck off to the closet so that one of the could pretend to be Fraser in the dark. So long as it wasn't hurting anyone; that was the rule.

"Well?" Ray asked, when Stanley didn't answer.

"I guess."

Ray scoffed. "You guess? You could sound more excited."

"Yeah I uh--yeah, I dunno." Kowalski was fidgeting, like there was something else on his mind. Ray had grown more and more sensitive to it. "I just dunno. Are we doing the right thing?"

"What brought this on?"

"The way he looked at me on the drive in this morning. Like--like he was thinking about something really, really hard. I had to ask him like three times if he wanted anything from the doughnut store."

"Huh." That was odd. Usually Fraser could at least carry a conversation, even if he was deep in thought about other things.

Stanley nodded. For a moment he seemed as though he was about to settle in and stare at Fraser for longer, but then he stood up and heaved off his coat in a gesture that Vecchio recognized as a 'come hither' sort of thing. He shucked off his own jacket, then set off after Kowalski.

When he looked back, Fraser was gone.

The two of them split up. Ray went into Interview Room B, and Stanley took a walk upstairs, then doubled back. They'd gotten pretty good at it, and sure enough minutes later Ray darted into the closet so quickly that the light barely touched Kowalski's face.

And then it was dark, and their hands were all over each other. Ray bit his lip to keep from making noises, because this was Stanley's moment. The role play needed him to be nice and quiet, otherwise how could Stanley pretend that he was in here with Fraser himself?

It was dark, and Stanley was very warm, his skin soft, the sound of his breathing filling the close space. Ray touched him, and kissed him, peeled back layers and licked swathes of warm skin.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah--" Stanley was murmuring. "Don't stop. That's it. Oh, Fraser."

From the darkness, Fraser said "Yes, Ray?"

They both froze.

And froze.

And held their breath.

Paralyzed, totally still, each of them waited for the other to speak, listening intently in disbelieving silence.

"Ray," Fraser said, at last, and Ray had the strongest feeling that he was the one being addressed.

He tried to find his voice. It faltered. "Y--yeah, Benny?"

"I believe Ray asked you not to stop."

"I uh..."

He wished he could see. Maybe if he could look Stanley in the eye he could figure out what it was he was supposed to do. What if Kowalski wanted him to stop after all? This wasn't exactly what either of them had signed up for. And yet there was a thrill of exciting possibility. This was really happening. Fraser was _right there_ in the closet with them.

"Yeah, Vecchio," Kowalski sneered, at last. It was his desperately trying to be brave voice. "You forgotten your dance steps?"

Ray's mind swept back to his last time with Fraser, and he reached out into the darkness blindly, stopping only when his hands found wool serge. Not this time. This time he wasn't going to let him go.

"Fraser. Make me a promise."

It was dark. He didn't know whether or not Fraser was actually looking at him or not. He knew Stanley would be. The silence, though--the silence was terrifying. He coughed to clear his throat. He felt like his hands were sweating.

"You'll be here in the morning. You won't disappear again? Won't--won't fly off back to Canada?" God, he sounded so vulnerable.

There was a long pause, and then the heartbreak was back all over again because Fraser said "Oh Ray," and then with surprising accuracy considering Ray could only begin to guess where his partner's face was, leant in and kissed him hard on the mouth.

So that answered that question.

Stanley probably guessed what was going on. Out of nowhere there was a squeeze to his ass and Fraser made a surprised noise into his mouth that indicated that he was encountering not unsimilar abuse beside him. Kowalski was a pig, but he was damn good at ice breakers.

"What do you say? We gonna dance or what?" Kowalski was _grinning_. Ray could hear it in his voice.

"Let's do it," Ray insisted.

"So long as it's the waltz," Fraser murmured, his breath wonderfully hot on his neck. "I don't know anything else."

Ray shuddered, and dropped his arm, looping it around Fraser's waist. He pulled him closer. "Don't worry," he purred, and Stanley laughed into his neck on the other side. "I remember the steps."

**Author's Note:**

> Happy DS Secret Santa, Jodie! A whole heapload of thanks to my beta reader and friend Zo who was indispensable and came all out for me. It was a joy to write (agonizing at times) and I hope you enjoy it!


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